


By Doom Mastered

by Solanaceae



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Incest: canon, also the shortest thing I've ever posted, go figure, my shortest oneshot and longest oneshot are for the same fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Her mother had spoken of a brother, lost before she was born, sent away to the Elf-king in Doriath, where he'd be safe. And as they had traveled, Morwen had spoken of her son, a fond light in her eyes, and Niënor had listened." Oneshot. Warnings for canon character death and mentions of canon incest. Written for B2MEM 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Doom Mastered

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Back to Middle-earth Month 2013.
> 
> Prompt from Day One: 'Loss of Innocence': "Then Glaurung died, and the veil of his malice was taken from her, and she remembered all the days of her life. Looking down upon Túrin she cried: 'Farewell, O twice beloved! A Túrin Turambar turun ambartanen: master of doom by doom mastered! O happy to be dead!' Then Brandir who had heard all, standing stricken upon the edge of ruin, hastened towards her; but she ran from him distraught with horror and anguish, and coming to the brink of Cabed-en-Aras she cast herself over, and was lost in the wild water."
> 
> From _The Silmarillion _Chapter 21, 'Of Túrin Turambar'__

_Do you remember?_

Glaurung's eyes were a deep gold, slitted like a cat's, filled with fire. The moon gleamed off of them, silver-bright, and she shrank back, because those eyes were suddenly so familiar...

_Niënor, daughter of Húrin._

And the dragon's eyes drifted shut, and everything fell away - and she  _remembered_.

_(tall and dark, his eyes like the storm)_

He had found her in the darkness and brought her to the light, clothed her and taught her to speak again, loved her and held her when the dreams that she could never quite remember came. And he lay in her arms now, eyes closed and skin ashen-grey, struck down by the dragon's spite.

And he was her brother.

_Master of doom. Turambar. No - Túrin, son of Húrin._

Her mother had spoken of a brother, lost before she was born, sent away to the Elf-king in Doriath, where he'd be safe. And as they had traveled, Morwen had spoken of her son, a fond light in her eyes, and Niënor had listened. Eyes like a stormy sky, her mother had said. Dark hair, from her - not like Niënor, with the spun-gold hair of her father.

Had she remembered?

Not until now.

 _He never wanted to tell me his name._  And she had wondered why, because something in her whispered it might be important - she had known it was important, though she had not known why.

She stood, distant and cold, letting him fall from her arms, words spilling from her mouth - and she wasn't even sure what they were, only that they were a cry of grief and terror, because now she  _knew_.

Knew the truth, knew her doom.

 _Master of doom by doom mastered,_  she thought, and almost laughed.

The night they had wed, he had held her in his arms as they tumbled onto the bed, her laughing, him with a small smile on his dark face. The most she'd even really gotten from him was that little upturning of his mouth, a smile that never touches his eyes - those grey eyes.

_(like the storm)_

They'd looked almost familiar, then, and she had almost shied away, but that had been their night of joy and nothing should sully that. And afterwards, when he'd collapsed over her, spent and panting, she'd let herself melt into his warmth and  _forget_  that familiarity and everything it implied.

She was good at forgetting.

Her hand strayed to her stomach, brushing over the fabric of her dress.  _The worst of all his deeds you shall feel in yourself,_  Glaurung hissed, and she flinched, hand clenching, nails digging into her skin.

 _It wasn't my fault,_ she protested.  _Nor was it his - the blame cannot be placed on either of us, we were cursed..._

And she looked down at this man, her brother and husband, lying before her, broken. She wondered where his strength had gone - this could not be her husband, sleeping as though dead before his foe, his hand burned and wrapped in a scrap of her dress. There was some mistake. Turambar would rise, and he would not be her brother, and this would all fade again-

_(twice beloved)_

"No," she whispered, then louder: "No!" She staggered away, distantly aware of someone calling her name, begging her to wait - but she was done waiting, done with everything. She might have called back something to that effect, but it didn't matter.

_Oh, twice beloved, Túrin Turambar... my husband..._

_(my brother, the father of my child)_

She ran through the woods, branches tearing at her skin, drawing thin red lines of blood, and she remembered another flight through the forest, away from the dragon, away from her mother - to her brother.

The river raged below, white and grey under the pale sky, and it reached up with cold arms to welcome her. She stepped into its embrace, and her last thought was of him and what they had created together. Her hands clenched around the soft swell of her stomach, tightened, digging into her skin.

There was no one else for her to run to.


End file.
